Moonspear a moving tale

Hydra had not been near to the call when it sounded, but alerted Desdemona she had heard and was on her way with an answering song of her own that would no doubt tell the she-wolf of her distance as well. Hydra moved swiftly nonetheless, moving over, and sometimes through (when she must), freshly fallen snow. Though it took some time for her to arrive, when she did Hydra greeted the other with a chuff; but it did not take long for Hydra to determine something was amiss. 

Were it not for the scent her keen nose picked up on, it would soon have been the sight of Tye sequestered in the crevice that her sharp eyes would have found. With a low whine, Hydra moved onto her belly and inched toward her subordinate to investigate more thoroughly the situation. Death was the smell, and yet her heart refused to believe it yet. It was only once her inky nose felt the cold feel of his skin that she understood nature had stolen from her yet another precious thing.

Hydra lay with him for a moment, letting the silence that befell them linger respectfully as she gazed into those lifeless eyes. These eyes—it had been these expressive things that caused Hydra to see he had life yet within him. A spirit that did not fit the weak body he possessed when he came upon them. She had high hopes for him; her heart ached to think she would not be able to see them come to life, no thanks to his death. 

She inched her way backward mutely, pushing herself to a seated position as she stared at the space he occupied; one ear pivoted toward Desdemona. He had been very weak when he came to us, she shared, I had hoped foolishly he could recover here. Perhaps I was cruel to do so, she wondered aloud, gaze shifting toward Desdemona as she finished in her low drawl, I prolonged this moment. It must have been inevitable, she murmured. I had hoped it was not. Had she caused him to suffer longer for hope? Ah! She wished that thing would die within her; let it rest finally with Tye.